


It Must’ve Been a Dream

by onlykatelyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dry Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 06:46:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19785406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlykatelyn/pseuds/onlykatelyn
Summary: It had to be a dream, because only in Dean’s wildest imagination would Castiel appear in his bed in the middle of the night.





	It Must’ve Been a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Basically just some smutty, fluffy Destiel for you all. ^_^ <3

Dean immediately drew his nine millimeter from its concealment beneath the pillow at the subtle noise approaching. It was a soft rustling, quiet enough to be inconspicuous to anyone except a Winchester.

He pointed his gun, wide awake as ever, and silently cursed the fact that he would never be allowed a good night’s sleep.

For Christ’s sake, he’d just finished demolishing a nest of Vampires near Raleigh; thus his lonely presence in a run down motel off the highway.

Sam would be pissed if he knew he’d done this job alone, but the brute was too busy working on something with Rowena. And Dean would rather die than get between his sassy brother and his research again.

He’d come back, but barely, with a limp and a bloody mess from head to toe. In fact- and this is the part he might choose to spare the details on- if it weren’t for a certain angel in a trench coat, he might not be here.

The vamps had taken him to a very compromising position with an unknown ambush of about 15 of the blood suckers appearing out of thin air. He couldn’t take them all, though he put up a damned good fight. He ganked about nine or so with only his bare hands and lucky machete before they took hold from behind.

With his arms immobilized and his neck hyperextended farther backward than he’d ever cracked it before, he was powerless. Would they kill him right then and there, a noble funeral for a hunter? Or worse: would they change him?

But right as Deans struggle was withering, eyes bloodshot from bursted tension, the damned guy had flew in like Jesus himself and lit the whole place up with his angel juice.

And Dean couldn’t help but notice how captivating he looked while doing it.

He’d frowned in his direction, clearly disapproval at his decision to hunt alone. And Dean had shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips before he spoke a “thanks, Cas.”

And then, the angel was gone. Like he had somewhere else to be, and Dean was a minor interruption to heaven’s work.

He rolled his eyes at the thought. His timing, however, was impeccable. And Dean would forever be grateful for his awkward pal showing up in the nick of time and putting in a fight.

Cas was more than a buddy. He was family. And that was why Dean Winchester was filled empty as the whoosh of his wings signaled his departure, and he stood, alone and bloody in what remained of the nest.

He’d made it back to the motel, hit up the shower, and killed a 6 pack before calling it a night. For once, maybe he’d allow the exhaustion to reign, to pull him into the depths of deep, uninterrupted slumber...

“Show yourself!” He commanded, and he was sure another vamp had shown up to the nest after he’d left and found their entire family dead. Now they’d want revenge.

It was a shame he’d left his machete in the duffel bag by the door.

His voice befell the silence, and suddenly a shadowed figure emerged from the darkness. But it wasn’t a vamp, or a ghoul, or anything else Dean was ready to throw a bullet into.

It was Cas.

Dean immediately lowered his weapon, a shocked alibi to his surprise.

“Jesus, Cas, what are you sneaking up on me for?” He placed a hand on his own creased brow, calming his reflexes while awaiting a response.

But Castiel said nothing.

Dean’s gun was already stowed safely in its hiding place. In the absence of threat, he propped himself on his elbows and allowed his eyes to adjust to the pattern of darkness.

The angel took a step forward, illuminating his face with the pale glow of the moonlight.

His expression was puzzling. His eyebrows were pulled taut as if he contemplated a question that hung secretly in the air. Dean studied his eyes, which were a soft blue and full of some hidden emotion he’d never seen before. He cocked his head to the side in that innocent, angelic way that Dean had grown to recognize and appreciate as almost cute.

But what in the hell was he doing here? At this hour? And with that... look? On his face?

“What’s up, Cas? Is everything alright?”

He must’ve been dreaming, because for a second, the angel faltered. His gaze fell, eyes sweeping the floor almost nervously. He never appeared this way, a quite human emotion dancing across normally stone features.

Dean watched closely as his adam’s apple bobbed with an anxious gulp. And then those blue eyes were boring into him, and Dean was never able to resist them, so pure and full of intent...

“No, no, nothing’s wrong, Dean. I just...”

He took another step forward before perching himself carefully on the edge of the outdated floral comforter. 

He was dreaming. Cas has never sat on his bed before.

Dean felt his own throat clench from uncertainty, saliva pouring into a gulp that left his mouth bone dry.

His lips separated, parched, unable to process what kind of masochistic part of him would dream up this scene. Truthfully, he couldn’t quite think straight with those eyes peering into his own, tearing through him, right down to his soul, raising it prophetically from perdition...

But now, in this moment, the depths of Dean’s subconscious had allowed the angel’s gaze to foretell not the inner workings of heaven but something much more forbidden...

Those eyes wore a question, laced intricately with a dare, and Dean wasn’t quite able to work out what exactly that entailed but knew that he couldn’t rest until he discovered it.

He slowly sat up and placed a hand forward. This was only a dream; here he could do as he pleased...

The calloused palm of Dean Winchester felt whole and warm atop the hand of an angel.

Castiel, almost surprised, tore his gaze to their hands. He studied every pore, every crease of their joints as they touched. Dean was dreaming, sure, but Cas looked so perfectly preserved... so real...

“Cas,” Dean stated into the air, heavy between them. It was a statement, an answer to the unasked question suspended from their lips.

Cas snapped his face upward, eyes blending effortlessly into the most vivid green gaze that held his own.

And then, without a moment’s hesitation, Cas’s other hand was gripping the back of Dean’s. His palm was warm, and soft, and the opposite of everything that was Dean Winchester.

Perhaps that was why he was so attracted to him. Castiel was everything Dean would never be: powerful, graceful, compassionate, kind. He wouldn’t mention it to a soul, not even Sam, but deep down it was everything Dean Winchester wanted to be.

He admired Cas, to say the least. Respected him. Wanted him.

“Dean, I came here... I wanted to...”

Cas paused, licking his lips. Dean had to stifle the slight twinge of arousal that peeked from beneath the sheets.

“I almost lost you. I was nowhere near you, and I... I felt your danger. Your emotion. Your fear, and your acceptance. I didn’t know where you were, but I was able to follow that feeling. It led me to you.”

His expression was soft and coated with irrefutable honesty. Dean felt another gulp slide down the back of his throat.

“Is that- is that a normal angel thing?” He asked, nervous and hanging on uncertainty.

“No.” The answer was heavy. Dean felt his head began to reel. Cas remained still as stone, holding his gaze with a genuine determination.

“I’ve never felt this way before. I didn’t know I had the capacity to hold these... emotions.”

He wanted to cry. What a cruel dream, a nightmare...He’d seen Cas in his sleep before, sure... but it’d never been this undeniably fantastic...

It was just more to mourn in the morning, when he’d awake alone in a ragged motel room.

Dean felt his own tongue glide across his lips. He couldn’t help himself. Cas was so close, so near to him, his head was swimming...

“How do you feel right now?” He whispered, leaning a bit closer, yearning for his response. For the words that would thicken the air between them, that would change the dynamic of everything that had ever existed before this moment.

Cas’s gaze flickered down to those lips and hovered for a small eternity before meeting his own once more.

“I... I feel...” He was leaning forward, perhaps subconsciously, and now Dean could feel the moist puff of breath as Cas exhaled.

It was too much. Far too much for him to handle. The taste was intoxicating, a sinful indulgence that was ironically the closest Dean had ever been to heaven.

So what if he would regret this? He’d probably wake up, drenched in sweat with an involuntary tent... but it would be worth it. It would all be worth it...

He allowed his eyes to flutter shut, eyelashes dusting pale against his face. Absorbing every second of this moment, hot and heavy and full of unspoken anticipation.

And Cas, he didn’t flutter away. There was no soft whoosh as he disappeared, no absence or emptiness that Dean would sense in his bones.

Instead, his breath quickened. The gentle tickle of his respiration matched the rapidity of Dean’s pulse, hammering until it was all he could hear.

Worth it... it would all be... worth it...

And with the finality of never looking back, Dean Winchester closed the space between them. His lips crashed hard into the angel’s, a desperate longing that had been stifled for far too long.

Cas’s mouth was a tender counterpart to his own; it fit effortlessly against his lips in a warm and homely embrace.

Dean’s sharp inspiration was followed by the uncontrollable desire to pull the angel closer. His hands flew to each side of his head, grasping as if this moment was their last.

Cas didn’t retract or pull away at all. Instead, his mouth moved against his own, flowing wordlessly in waves of reciprocation.

Fuck, it was smooth, and right, and if Dean hadn’t known better he’d say it was damned destiny.

He’d never thought he’d share a kiss like this. The hunter’s way was a plethora of one night stands, kisses that were hot but meaningless and lacked any real feeling.

Why get attached to something that wasn’t bound to make it through the next hunt?

But this, this was impossibly perfect, and whole, and right, and Dean had never felt so complete. He couldn’t let this go, wouldn’t let this go...

Cas gripped his shirt with both hands, knotting the fabric in his fists as he pulled Dean closer with impossible strength. He couldn’t stop it if he wanted to, and, damn, he didn’t...

Cas’s head tilted, allowing their mouths to open and slide against each other. For Dean’s tongue to enter invitingly into his. For his pants to tighten as desire loomed from the depths of his gut.

As if Cas could sense this, he loosened his grip and hurriedly thrust his hands beneath the hem of Dean’s shirt. Everything was spinning; he couldn’t think. All he knew was that this, this was what he’d wanted for so damn long...

Cas pulled the shirt above his head, and Dean threw it to the side before pausing to meet eyes with him once more. And then, before anything else could happen, Castiel leaned his forehead forward to match Dean’s. He breathed, a soft sigh of relief as his eyes fluttered shut.

For a moment, his lips came closer, like they couldn’t resist being apart for long. But after a slight hesitation, he remained in place, the soft skin of his forehead caressing Dean’s.

Cas tasted like the apple of Eve. Like a prophetic temptation that Dean could no longer resist. He reveled in every inch of closeness, every piece of skin that touched.

Cas’s eyes migrated to his bare chest, and before Dean could blink delicate fingers were wrapped around the scorpion that dangled from his neck. His gaze held softly fixed to the charm, and somehow this stare felt more intimate than anything he’d felt before.

He massaged it gently with his fingertips before allowing it to fall against his pectorals. And then those same fingers, they were grazing the surface of his skin, rubbing gently as they traced the creases of his chest.

Dean felt his breath catch as a round of goosebumps prickled in their wake. And then, Cas bit his lip, and it was so goddamn beautiful, so hot... Dean was sure he was going to wake up any minute covered in his own mess.

“Oh, God, Cas...” He rasped, and in the next moment fingertips were grazing subtly along his nipples. It was in this second that Dean discovered the threshold of his breaking point. One touch from the angel was comparable to downing a whole bottle of whiskey: there were no thoughts, no inhibitions, only Cas. And Cas was everything, he was absolutely fucking everything...

Dean surrendered. And in lieu of his self destruction was a passion so bright, so prominent as it coursed through his veins...

His hands were uncontrollable as they instinctively shrugged off his trench coat, and then his suit jacket, his shirt...

And somewhere in between the course pattern of undressing, their lips crashed together like a thunderstorm. An urgency permeated the air, cut its thickness in half until all that remained was Dean and Cas. They were caught somewhere between heaven and hell, their own personal purgatory that felt more like paradise.

And in the middle of kisses and shameless want Cas began to lean forward, slowly molding the curve of their bodies until Dean was positioned gently beneath him.

The mattress was firm beneath his spine, a solid reminder that this dream was inevitably lucid and real.

And then, Cas dipped into him, and goddamn... fuck...

Dean’s length was hard beneath his sleep shorts, the plaid fabric wedged between them. Cas’s naked chest pressed against his own, the skin smooth and indulgent as it sent shivers down each vertebra.

The next thing he remembered was the thoughtless motion of his hands unclasping Cas’s belt and sliding his pants downward. And then the graceful motion of Cas kicking them off in one fluid movement.

And, perhaps most memorable of all was the sensation of Castiel’s erection guiding into his thigh, pressed hopelessly through his boxers.

Dean shook involuntarily as a shiver prickled down from his skull. How the fuck was this happening... he was so hard... for him... all for him...

Cas moaned against his lips, and it was an erotic noise, a siren’s song that called specifically to Dean Winchester.

“Mmm, Dean...” and it was too much. Dean’s hands were cupped gently against his buttocks, tugging at his boxers and yanking them downward.

Cas didn’t hesitate. He didn’t question this. Instead, he kissed him. His lips were a gentle caress against Dean’s as his now exposed body thrust against his pelvis. A forward motion that signaled so much more than physical inhibition.

“Cas, baby...” Dean recited, an uncontrollable verse to their song. “You are... so fucking perfect... I need you...”

Castiel was silent as he returned the favor. And then he paused, rising above him, studying his naked body with a stare that was honest with desire.

His eyes raked over every crease, every freckle dotting his tanned complexion. Every aspect of Dean Winchester that he wanted to make his own.

And Dean had never felt more vulnerable or exposed. This was the part where he’d run, sprint far in the opposite direction to preserve what emotion he held near to his heart. To prevent the hurt that was bound to follow.

To reject before he could be rejected.

But in the absence of fear was trust, and he’d never felt so sure about anything in his life thus far. This was Cas, and even in a dream, he would never leave.

He was everything, and Dean refused to be anywhere but in this moment.

He positioned himself in his hand, grasping his own length as icy blue eyes held green. He stroked himself once, then twice before tipping forward and tilting his pelvis into Dean’s.

“Nggggh,” the noise was an incomprehensible groan that escaped Dean’s lips as pleasure rippled through his body. Nothing had ever felt so pure, so righteous as Cas positioned against him. The friction that ensued was exhilarating, like jumping off a cliff, or ganking an entire clan of Leviathans...

His breath was heavy; his chest heaved. And still, Cas didn’t stop. He leaned impossibly close until there was no space between them. It was a beautiful dance, a breath taking rhythm as one body glided against the other. It was almost angelic, if Dean could admit it, and he knew that if he was good enough to enter his own heaven, this would be it.

“Dean... you’re so... unbelievably beautiful... the most stunning of all creation... flawless....”

The whisper was hushed against his lips. Dean felt himself approaching unbearably close to climax. His muscles were tightening, clenching and releasing as the world spun around them...

“Cas, fuck... I’m so close... I can’t take it...”

His toes were curling, hands scratching at Castiel’s shoulder blades. His tooth bit uncomfortably through his bottom lip. He couldn’t cope... he’d never been quite this high.

One. Cas quickened his thrusts, pushing himself to the brink. Two, Dean yelled, a passionate and vocal attribution to his impending climax. Three, Cas shivered in a manner so human that Dean felt the need to pull him closer.

And then, as if it was bound to happen, destined from the moment Cas gripped his soul... Dean was coming. Ecstasy pulsed in waves through every muscle, every tendon tightened and released simultaneously against his bones. It was an orgasm unlike anything he’d experienced before. It was the memory of Dean pressing a knife through his chest, of every light flickering in his presence. Of the handprint burned righteously into his skin.

Of his redemption. And it was sweet, and deserving, and suddenly Dean had not a doubt in his mind that good things could indeed happen.

He spilled across their stomachs, and Castiel grasped himself once more at the sight of his face. His lips were parted, eyes glassy as he rode the ripples of his orgasm...In the next few seconds, their fluids were mixed and strewn across each other.

Castiel collapsed, falling firm against Dean’s chest. They stayed like that for a while, catching breath, grasping onto one another as heartbeats thrummed against ribs.

“Cas, please...” Dean gazed deep into those eyes, unyielding, holding nothing back. He gulped. “Please, don’t go.”

“Dean.” his expression was a cross between genuine concern and contemplation. He picked up a hand, carding his fingers through bronze strands of hair.

“I will never leave you. I can’t. Leave you.”

And Dean, the sissy that he was, felt tears hot against his pupils. They were choking him, and he regretfully allowed them to spill as the world blurred.

Cas only tilted his face forward, gently grazing their noses and smiling softly.

“You are worthy, Dean. You are everything to me.”

And Cas kissed his teardrops, placing pecks along his cheeks. Leaving trails from his temples to the line of his jaw. Erasing all traces of insecurity.

“Is this love, Cas?” A vulnerable, open question that echoed through the air.

“I would assume so, yes. I’ve never felt love before. But if this is it, then it’s all I’ll ever need.”

Dean closed his eyes, exhaustion taking over. Cas moved to his side, wrapping his arms around his waist as Dean slipped back into unconsciousness.

***

He blinked once, then twice as the world  
came into view. He first caught sight of those god awful floral curtains, and wondered where the fuck he was...

That pattern. The comforter. Cas. Raleigh. Vamps. Cas. Tender touches, kisses. Cas.

What a goddamn dream...

The light seeped through the windows, and he knew he’d have to move soon. He needed to head back to Lawrence and get an update from Sam. But there was a part of him that knew he could preserve his fantasy just a bit longer, if only he stayed beneath the sheets...

He must’ve rustled, a slight movement that gave him away. Because suddenly he felt a touch, a fleeting sensation against his right bicep...

He jumped, spinning around with shock. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t this.

Never in a million years did he think he would wake up next to those blue eyes, the ones that belonged only to Cas...

“Dean, it’s okay.” Castiel reassured, brow furrowed with concern.

He didn’t speak. He was too far caught up in his own disbelief.

“You- you don’t remember.”

Dean tilted his head, still unable to form words. It wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t a fucking dream. Cas had touched him. Cas had kissed him. Cas had wanted him...

“Do you want me to go?” The words were softer, quieter. Almost scared.

Dean should’ve tugged him closer. Should’ve grasped him tight. But he still remained frozen to the spot without a single coherent thought running through his mind. Broken syllables... pieces of memory... of what he’d thought was a product of his subconscious...

“I’ll go.” He stated resolutely, a noble sacrifice that was characteristic of the angel. Those two words somehow held the power to snap Dean from his reverie.

“No! Cas, wait. Please.” He lifted a hand, nervously placing it near his temporal bone. His eyes moved across his face, studying his features. Memorizing them.

“I didn’t think it was real. I didn’t think you’d want me.”

“You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

“It doesn’t make sense. I’m human. And a poor excuse for one at that.”

Castiel lifted a hand to match Dean’s.

“You are righteous, and pure. Brave and chivalrous. You always put others before yourself.” He used his other hand to lift Dean’s chin, meeting his eyes.

“I am an angel. I was programmed to be this way. But you, you’ve made choices. And your choices are what made you who you are. They are what made me fall in love with you.”

The rosy tint to Cas’s cheeks was almost human.

Love. Dean couldn’t wrap his head around this. He should run and hide, should apologize for ever leading Cas to believe he was good enough.

But he couldn’t do that. Because he loved Cas. He loved the way he cocked his head when he didn’t understand common mannerisms. The way he refused to hang up the phone because he didn’t understand how to do so. The look on his face when Dean played Zepplin in the Impala, and Cas waited patiently in the driver’s seat for them to arrive.

It was a miracle that it hadn’t come crashing down on him yet.

“Cas, I- I...” He pulled the angel into him, clashing their lips once more, answering with a reciprocative kiss.

This kiss was hard, and desperate, and Dean pressed impossibly deep into it. When they separated, Cas’s blue irises were full of hope.

“I love you, too, Cas.” He finished, and without further ado, he yanked him in for an encore.

***


End file.
